


In Kit We Trust

by kentprsn (atthebarricades)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, I just love Kit Purrson a lot???, Kit Purrson the Metaphysical Cat, M/M, Young! Jack and Kent, they're still in the Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7149302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atthebarricades/pseuds/kentprsn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot of things can happen if a cat is set loose in an ice rink; Kent never thought this would be one of them.</p><p>Or</p><p>"I may have brought my pet to the rink by accident and it may have escaped you have to help me." AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Kit We Trust

**Author's Note:**

> This was just an excuse to write about Kit Purrson and I don't know much about Hockey I'm sorry
> 
> TW: Recreational drug use is mentioned for like a hot second

Kent knows that ‘bring your cat to work day’ isn’t the best idea when work is hockey, okay? He’s aware. That doesn’t make looking into Kit’s beautiful and sad eyes as he leaves ( _yes_ she’s sad when he leaves, god damn it) any easier. So it was only a matter of time before he lost the strength to say no. Kent shoves an obscene amount of towels into his hockey bag (Kit needs to be comfortable, all right) and unceremoniously wrestles Kit into his bag. “It’s just until we get in the car, and then you can leave alright?” A disgruntled _meow_ shook through the bag and Kent scoffs, “Don’t meow at me, I know you can breathe in there.” Nevertheless, he pulls the zipper open a little more, and Kit’s paws shove through immediately.

Once in his car, Kent opens his bag and lets Kit roam as she pleases. She behaves well enough on the way to the rink; well enough meaning she didn’t pee on anything, which Kent appreciates. Sneaking her into the locker room was going to be a little more difficult, though. After managing to get Kit safely back into his gear bag, he heads toward the front doors, waves his good mornings and heads to the locker room as quickly as possible. He’s already slightly late. There are only a few guys inside, pulling on gloves and lacing up skates, and he waits until they leave before opening his bag and letting Kit out.

“You’re going to have to behave, all right?” Kent says, changing into his under armor as quickly as possible. “No one can know you’re here. That means no scratching the other guys’ jerseys and no jumping into the laundry hamper.” Kit just stares at him, unfazed. He strokes her white fur for a second before hurrying to put on the rest of his gear. By the time he’s done, Kit is happily sitting on a towel, licking herself. “See you on the other side, babe.” And with a final scratch behind her ears, he’s off, closing the door behind him.

He steps onto the ice easily, ignoring the team’s chirps about getting his beauty sleep. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone else, but Kent did feel good knowing Kit was here, she’s his greatest supporter, though she pretends to be apathetic most of the time. Kent knows she really loves him.

Jack skates up next to him, bumps his shoulder into his, “You’re late.” He says, completely monotone as always.

“We can’t all be up at ass-o-clock in the morning like you, Zimms. I can’t rock the under eye bags quite like you do.” Kent says, shoving back.

Jack purses his mouth, a small frown appearing on his forehead, “Are you okay?” He asks, “You’re not usually this coherent in the mornings.”

“Ever heard of coffee, Zimmermann?” Kent smirks, skating away to do a lap around the rink, warming up. He wonders how Kit is holding up. He left her some water and she ate and used her box before leaving home. She should be fine. She _is_ fine, he assures himself.

Morning practice begins in earnest after that. After passing drills, and skating suicides, the coaches arrange a scrimmage. He’s on Jack’s team, as always. They work together, of course they do, they’re Jack and Kent, Parson and Zimmermann, Kenny and Zimms. They have something special, the kind chemistry on the ice that’s hard to come by. From the moment they met, they had been inseparable. Now, at 18, they have been playing together for two years, training together for two years, improving together for two years. They’ve been best friends for two years, something Kent never really imagined would happen when he first met Jack. Kent can barely remember what hockey was like before Zimms, before this big, tall, Canadian hockey robot skated his way into Kent’s life. Though Kent chirps him endlessly for it, he knows there’s more to Jack than his hockey façade. For instance, he knows for a fact that Jack is the biggest nerd in the world and has more history books on his bookshelf than novels. He knows Jack has a stupid “Be Better” poster above his bed, because he knows Jack never thinks he’s good enough, even though Jack’s already the best, he’s always been the best. Who the fuck beats two NHL legends in a shootout when they’re twelve, god damn it. To other people it might look like Jack’s had this life handed to him, that because his dad just so happens to be a hockey legend, Jack obviously has to be a hockey prodigy by extension. But they don’t know the Jack he knows.

No one seems to know hard Jack works himself. No one thinks about the extra practices he puts in, the extra gym sessions, his strict nutrition regiment. No one thinks that Jack had to work harder than everyone else just to prove himself, to try to live up to his last name, his father’s legacy. No one thinks about how that affects Jack. But Kent can see it. He sees it in the way Jack’s mouth tenses when he misses a shot. He sees it in the way Jack’s back is perfectly straight after losing a game, not allowing himself to show any signs of defeat. Jack has the C, Jack can’t show disappointment, and Jack has to be there for his team. Jack just doesn’t realize that he has to be there for himself too.

Kent tries his best to be there for him, he trains with Jack, and makes sure he’s never alone through any of it. Kent stays with him for Jack’s post-practice practices. He plays one-on-one with Jack to his heart’s desire. Kent stays for Jack’s post-game practices, which Jack makes extra long if they lose. Kent tries to take some of the blame off his shoulders; Jack shouldn’t have to carry it by himself, he shouldn’t have to carry it at all.

Kent is truly not sure about when he started falling for Jack; it was a gradual sort of thing, a fondness that grew into this all-encompassing feeling that suddenly just slapped him in face like _oh, it’s you_. Jack, in all his oblivious glory, has no idea. Or maybe he’s just straight, who can tell, but Kent has his suspicions.

Playing with Jack is exhilarating, and Kent knows it always will be. It’s a rush unlike any other he’s ever experienced and all right, Kent is an athlete, he knows to take care of his body but who can blame him for experimenting with a little recreational stuff during the off-season? He stopped that pretty quickly though, after he realized nothing really compares to being on Zimm’s wing, which sounds stupid as fuck which is why Kent would never say that out loud, but it’s true. There’s nothing quite like their patented Zimmerman-Parson no-look one-timers, after all.

Speaking of, that’s exactly how they manage to win their scrimmage (to the surprise and shock of no one). Playing on Zimm’s wing is second nature by now, as easy as skating. Kent knows Jack; he knows where Jack wants him to be, just like he always knows exactly what Jack’s next move will be. He tries not to think too hard about the draft, coming up in just a year. After all, if he can’t play with Zimms, he definitely wants to play against him.

Practice ends quickly after that, and Kent is anxious to get into the locker room and see how Kit had fared; if she was good, he might bring her over more often. He’s the first one off the ice, sliding on his skate guards, and hurrying into the locker room.

He’s pushing open the door, the rest of the team far behind him, already opening his mouth to ask, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” When he realizes something’s wrong. Kit’s towel is empty in his stall, and Kit herself is nowhere to be seen. Kent’s heart immediately drops to his stomach, his mind already picturing worst-case scenarios. Of course it was a fucking bad idea to bring your cat to practice, of course she would find someplace to run off to. Kent was just silently praying she was still in the rink. He sat in his stall long enough to take off his skates before running off to search the rest of the locker room, not even bothering to pull on his shoes or take off the rest of his gear besides his helmet and gloves. The team is slowly filtering in behind him, most of the guys giving him strange looks as he runs around.

First he checks the showers, but there was no sign of Kit there. He wasn’t really expecting there to be, she’s not a fan of water. He runs into the trainer’s room next, praying to find her playing with some fallen bandages, but no such luck. On his way to check the coaches’ office, he runs straight into Jack, who is, luckily, also still wearing all of his gear.

By this point, Kent is sure he looks like a mess. He’s still sweaty from practice, but his heart is beating quickly for a completely different reason. He needs to know that Kit is safe; he needs to know that he hasn’t majorly fucked up. He doesn’t even know if Kit is still in the fucking rink, much less if she’s teetering on the fucking edge of the high way or something. His thought process must show on his face because Jack’s forehead wrinkles the way it always does when he’s worried about him. Or anything. Or just frowning. _It’s a fucking forehead it’s what they do, get your shit together, Parson._

Jack’s hand on his shoulder pad brings him back to the present. “Parse! Parse!” By the sound of it, it wasn’t the first time Jack has called his name; the frown deepens. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Kent wants to cry, with relief or frustration, he doesn’t know, but his chest is tight and his breathing is still too quick. “It’s Kit.” He finally breathes out.

Zimms doesn’t look any less confused. “Kit? Is she okay?”

Kent’s guilt comes crashing down on him, he really should’ve known better than to bring her to practice with him. “I might’ve done something stupid.” Jack purses his lips, gestures for him to go on, but keeps his hand on Kent’s shoulder. “I brought her to practice and left her in the locker room. I though she would be fine, she seemed happy and she had water. But someone must’ve opened the door while we were at practice and she must’ve gotten out because now I can’t find her anywhere and I don’t know if she’s all right and I fucked up, Zimms, I fucked up so bad. What if she’s not in the rink? What if she somehow made her way to the road? What if I don’t find her–?”

“Parse!” Jack interrupts him. Both of his hands are on Kent’s shoulders now. Kent tries to breathe. “Calm down for a second, I’m sure she’s still around here. I’ll help you look for her, okay?” Kent can only nod shakily, painfully aware of how close Jack is standing. “Do you have anything that could attract her? Some treats or a toy or something?”

“The sound of my beautiful voice.” Kent chirps weakly, just to see Jack roll his eyes fondly at him.

“I’m rethinking Kit’s motives, maybe she had the right idea.” Jack teases back, knocking their shoulders together, offering Kent a small smile. Jack leads them back into the locker room, shaking his head at the guys who look like they’re about to ask questions. Kent quickly fishes Kit’s treats out of his bag and heads back outside, Jack right behind him after removing his skates.

Kent turns to him, “I already looked in the showers and in the trainer’s room, but I found you before I got to check anywhere else. I think it’s best if we split up, so we can cover more ground. I’ll check around the rink to see if maybe she’s out there.”

Jack nods “I’ll check the concession stand, maybe she got hungry.” He smirks at Kent.

“I forgot to feed her _ONE_ time! And she eats twice a day it’s not like she was starving! She had food on her plate she’s just a princess and likes fresh food over stale food okay? Let it go!” Kent turns and walks away, Jack’s laughter echoing behind him. He can’t help but smile at that, despite his still present panic. He’s glad Jack is helping him, Jack’s always been much more composed than Kent in, well, every kind of situation.

Kent searched the rink inside and out. He walks through every single row, checks under every single seat. He even sings the damn song he made up for Kit, something he _swore_ he would never do in public, because he knows she loves it. He even searches that damn cargo area that’s full of empty crates and old boxes, because he’s sure Kit would love it there. And after spending a ridiculous amount of time calling for her, meowing for her, and looking into every single crate and box, he gives up and heads back to the locker room.

Kent’s chest is still tight, and he can feel his heart beating faster again. He doesn’t want to think about what will happen if he can’t find Kit, he can’t bear it. So he thinks about what an idiot he is for bringing her in the first place, but he really does miss her while he’s at practice, and he knows cats are independent animals but he still feels guilty every time he leaves for a roadie. He knows his billet family’s there and can take care of her, but she doesn’t like them as much as she likes him. Kent really did think he was doing what was best for her.

He’s still chiding himself for being a complete idiot when he walks into the locker room and sees Jack leaning against Kent’s stall, still wearing his gear, with Kit safely snuggled in his arms, playing with a spare shoe lace. “You found her!” Kent says, and before he can think about what he’s doing, his arms are around Jack, his face tucked into Jack’s neck. Kit meows half-heartedly as she jumps down from Jack’s arms to re settle herself on her towel. Before Jack even has time to react, Kent is pulling back again. He clears his throat; the sound feels impossibly loud in the empty room. “Where was she?”

Jack still looks a little bit shocked at Kent’s reaction. It’s not like they’d never hugged before, they always celly together after scoring, but this was different. Jack seems to snap out of it before the silence stretches for too long. “I found her in the equipment room, playing with a shoelace behind some boxes.”

Kent smirks, “Of course she was.” He reaches over to scratch under Kit’s chin. “You’re my little troublemaker aren’t you?” Kit gives him an unimpressed look. “All right, well I should.” He gestures towards the showers and starts removing his gear.

“Yeah” Jack nods, sounding a little forced. “Me too, me too.”

 _Well, fuck_ , Kent thinks, _now I’ve gone and made him uncomfortable._ Kent is starting to regret throwing himself at Jack like that, but he can’t help but think about how warm Jack felt, how Kent could feel it despite the multiple layers of hockey gear between them. And this is really not something he should be thinking about while heading over to the showers, Jack following a few minutes later.

Kent stares resolutely ahead as he showers, determined not to make it awkward. He finishes before Jack does, toweling off his hair and then wrapping a towel around his waist as he heads back to the locker room. Kit, thankfully, is still happily sitting on her towel, not a care in the world. Kent dresses quickly, and just as he’s pulling on his shirt, Jack emerges from the shower. Kent determinedly does _not_ look. He doesn’t notice the way the towel is struggling to stay up when wrapped around Jack’s (marvelous) ass. He doesn’t notice the way Jack’s (tight as fuck) torso is still sprinkled with water droplets, and he _definitely_ does not notice how his stupid, stupid wet bangs are dripping water down his face. Jack drops his towel and Kent’s breath most definitely does not hitch because he’s _definitely_ not looking at Jack and his incredible ass, he’s not.

Kit is giving him a judging looks, like she _knows_ , and okay, to be fair, she probably does. But that still doesn’t give her the right. Kent starts packing up his gear bag as Jack, _thank fuck_ , starts putting some clothes on. Jack’s about to pull his own shirt on when Kent makes an abrupt noise of protest and okay, where the fuck did that come from? He didn’t mean to make that noise, did he? But then Jack is lowering his shirt again and looking at Kent with that stupid frown on his face, and all right, maybe he did mean to make that noise because Jack should _not_ be putting a shirt on and Kent shouldn’t just be standing there with his mouth open like an idiot.

So he does something about it. Because Kent, quite obviously, isn’t very good at thinking, but he is exceptionally good at _doing_. So before he can talk himself out of it, he steps into Zimm’s space and reaches up to put a hand on the back of his neck. He waits just a second, enough time for Jack to pull away if he wanted to (he doesn’t), and then goes for it. For a second, Kent is in pure shock at the fact that his lips are touching Jack’s and then– nothing is happening. Jack isn't reacting and Kent is about to pull away and apologize for misreading the entire situation when Jack’s warm arms wrap around his waist and pull him closer. Jack leans down, tilts his head, and _finally_ starts kissing him back. Kent makes that stupid noise again, but maybe it isn’t so stupid because Jack’s arms tighten around him and his lips part under Kents. Kent is suddenly painfully aware that he’s pressed up against Jack’s bare chest, one hand on his neck and the other on his bicep, and without quite meaning to moans into their kiss.

Kent pulls away first, and his trademark smirk makes its way onto his face, “Not bad, Zimms.”

Zimm’s shrugs, arms still around Kent, but he’s smirking too, his clear eyes sparkling, “Frankly, Kenny, I think you could use a little extra practice. I’m happy to help.”

Kent huffs out a laugh, “Of course you are, you’re fucking Canadian.” And pulls jack’s lips back to his own, not pulling away this time.

Kit sits on her towel the entire time, happily bathing herself; her job is done.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for this fandom, and my first time writing these boys (and Kit), so let me know what you think! Feedback is very much appreciated <3
> 
> Feel free to come cry about Kent Parson with me on [my writing Blog](http://atthe-barricades.tumblr.com/)


End file.
